


Hell

by thewhiterose3



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhiterose3/pseuds/thewhiterose3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell is realizing how easy it would be to lose him, too. Being secure in the knowledge that while she may be the one in the ground, somehow no one has noticed that both of you are the ones who are dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I cannot get the scene in Morrell's office out of my head. This my headcanon of dark inner Stiles thoughts in response to her oh so inspirational quote.
> 
> Warning: Excessive cursing. Unbeta'd.

Fuck Morrell. Fuck her and her stupid knowing eyes, her unhelpful motivational speeches, her fucking vague ass vagueness. Fuck her. Like Stiles needed someone to tell him to keep going. Like he didn't already know. Like it was some vast life lesson that she was imparting. She could go fuck a duck.

Stiles knew about hell and as horrific as this fairytale shit was, this wasn't it. Hell was learning at age nine that your body was made up of cells, that sometimes some of those cells morphed, changed, mutated into something that attacked and consumed. That your mother's body was destroying itself. Hell was believing in hope and medicine and doctors. Hell was learning at age ten that beating something, that remission wasn't a sure thing. That victory never lasted.

Hell was watching the center of your world fade away and being told that no, you couldn't give the person you loved the most in the world your cells to help her heal. Hell was learning at age eleven that not only were you too smart for your own good, not only were you distracting and annoying and hyper, not only did you need drugs to be normal. Not only that, you weren't good enough even at a biological level. Your cells didn't match hers. With no living family, you were the best chance she had and you weren't good enough. You were never good enough.

Hell was standing there dry eyed and shaking at twelve and a half when the one person in the world who never saw you as a burden, as the living breathing essence of exasperation, was lowered into the ground. Hell was missing her last breath because you were fucking sleeping. Hell was watching wide eyed and vacant and just fucking empty as people said they were sorry, hugged you with no warmth. Certain that warmth could never find you again. Hell wasn't hot, hell was fucking cold and tired and empty.

Hell, hell was being jolted out of that numbness when you realized that there is no food in the house, that the only person you have left is never there and always comes home late only to drink himself to sleep. Hell is realizing that your father is literally wasting away from grief and alcohol and fucking starvation. Hell is realizing that your parent has lost the will to live and that if you don't do something, no one else will. Hell is realizing how easy it would be to lose him, too. Being secure in the knowledge that while she may be the one in the ground, somehow no one has noticed that both of you are the ones who are dead.

Hell is four years later when Scott still doesn't realize that you never really got a chance to mourn your mother, you just pushed it down, found more, higher priorities, things that were more important that you healing. It wasn't like you could heal the fact that you weren't and would never be good enough anyway, so why try. Hell was trying so damn hard to make a dead woman, a dead inside man proud and still, still breaking everything you touch. Hell is trying to fill that numbness with information, trying to know everything, including what happened to the other half of a dead girl's body.

Hell is ruining your only friend's life. Fucking hell is enabling your father's ongoing alcoholic tendencies for your own ends. Hell is disappointing and hurting and breaking everyone who ever had the misfortune to care about you. Hell is selfishly wanting to be a part of something so fucking bad, even when you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you'll only break them all in the end. Hell is wanting, just fucking once, to fix something instead of break it. To do something right. Hell is knowing that it is all so fucking pointless, people died, it happened all the time. There is nothing that a fuck up like you could do to change it. Might as well give it your all. Might as well try while you still can.

So fuck her. Fuck her advice. Stiles already knew how to keep going when you were already dead. He was a fucking expert at it. Keep going – it was the only thing he knew how to do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, blah blah woof woof.


End file.
